


More Than I'd Found a Way to Say

by PrettyThief



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Knighting, POV Brienne of Tarth, Post-Canon, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 10:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyThief/pseuds/PrettyThief
Summary: Even on their wedding day, Brienne wonders what Jaime’s feelings toward her truly are. Jaime’s actions speak louder than words. A book canon knighting scene.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 33
Kudos: 167





	More Than I'd Found a Way to Say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wirette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wirette/gifts).

> I had been considering expanding on a single sentence about this premise in another of my fics (wholly unrelated!), and Wirette said they would like it, so here it is! Also brought to you by the song [The Luckiest by Ben Folds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VTfQ7licgJ8), from which the title is derived.
> 
> Rated "mature" only for safety's sake. There are discussions of sex and reflections on sex, but no actual sex scenes.
> 
> And as usual, this is not beta-read, so I apologize for my inevitable mistakes.

Brienne wore white, and she hated it. More than ever before, she felt like a giant sack of flour. The dress itself was gorgeous, a dual effort between Sansa and Jaime’s Aunt Genna. The ivory silk clung to her uncomfortably, but Sansa had insisted it was flattering and Genna that it was tradition. Her maids had attempted to twist her thin and uncooperative hair into the shape of a rosebud, but the pins tugged painfully at her scalp. She had hoped the gown would cover her feet well enough so that she might wear her soft and comfortable leather boots, but Lady Genna had come bustling in with a narrow pair of slippers.

“You don’t want to appear taller than your lord husband on your wedding day, do you, dear?” Tywin Lannister’s cheerily formidable sister had asked of her.

She would be taller than Jaime, though. He may even wear his boots with the slight heel, giving him enough of an advantage to fool the audience, but Brienne knew how his body measured up next to hers. Not even attending the event in her bare feet would help her forget the truths she knew.

She had wanted to weep when she had been presented with the beautifully delicate white gown. Sansa had been terribly proud of it, her face glowing with excitement. White was meant to represent a bride’s purity on her wedding day, much like the cloak of the Kingsguard. But she was not pure, and she had not been for some time. It had been a long while since she had first invited Jaime Lannister into her bed on the darkest and coldest night she had ever known. His body tangled with her own had been like a shelter in the midst of a storm. She did not regret a moment of their time together, but she had not anticipated the terrible conundrum in which she now found herself:

Reject the white gown, letting everyone in attendance know the truth about her, or accept it and begin her married life with a lie.

She said as much to Lady Genna, who she did not know well at all, but felt an easy sort of kinship with as mayhap the only living woman who knew Jaime as well as Brienne herself did, and as the most vocal champion of their pending nuptials.

“Lady Genna,” she had said quietly, carefully as the bulky woman had fussed with the bodice of the gown.

“There is really no need for the formalities, Brienne. You will be my niece very shortly.”

Brienne bit her lip. “Genna,” she tested. “I—am not sure about the dress.”

Genna stopped what she was doing, rising to her full height. “It’s a bit late for major alterations.”

“No, no. It’s just—the color. I…” Her mouth suddenly felt very dry and she looked away as she felt heat creep up from her chest all the way to her hairline. “I’mnotamaid,” she said all at once, the words jumbling as they fell out of her mouth.

Genna’s blonde eyebrows shot up. “Did you say you’re not a maid?”

Brienne bowed her head, immediately wishing she had never spoken. She could only nod.

To her horror, Genna laughed. “Oh, my sweet summer child. Are you fretting about wearing white, as though any woman your age is ever truly a maid on her wedding night? The pair of you defended the realm from the dead. No one can begrudge my newphew taking you to bed before the words were said. Wear your white dress. It suits you. And the gods take anyone who doesn’t like it.”

Even with the fire and conviction behind Genna’s words, Brienne still had trouble calming her increasingly frayed nerves. Her father would soon be knocking upon the door, ready to walk her out to meet Jaime in the sept.

That thought, too, filled her with dread. In the north, during what felt like an infinitely ending world, seeking warm comfort from Jaime—a sliver of selfish happiness, even, in the feel of his hands and his mouth upon her skin—had seemed like the only solution. Back on Tarth, in her father’s Hall and now in the sept, she felt like she had stolen something that should never have been hers. What must her father think of her, except that she was without honor or virtue?

_Honor_, she thought sadly as Sansa and Genna gossiped contentedly on the chaise across from her dressing table. It still felt surreal—Stoneheart, Riverrun, Winterfell, and before that, Lady Sansa stumbling across their path. Brienne had almost forgotten her quest by then, after everything else that had happened before. Jaime had laughed at how upset she had been, since the girl was safe and on her way to Winterfell anyway. But the feelings of guilt had stayed with Brienne no matter what he or anyone else said.

“Lady Brienne, you must not look so distraught. This is a happy day!” Sansa was smiling at her, her pretty face lit up with a radiant glow.

Brienne gave her a shaky smile, nervously tugging the vee of her dress upward. “Yes. It is.”

She _was_ excited to marry Jaime. Her love for him was the surest thing she had ever known, as natural and obvious to her as taking a breath. She could never manage to grasp what Jaime felt toward her in return. Every time she thought she had caught the thread of his emotions, it seemed to have slipped between her fingers before she could properly examine it. He was fond of her, she knew, and their friendship was the sturdiest pillar in her life. He relied on her, trusted her, even seemed to find comfort and joy in her—and she him. Whether he truly loved her seemed almost irrelevant; he was without lands and titles, and she was without a husband to provide heirs for Tarth. Their union made sense, and they both were fortunate it would be an agreeable one.

A knock on the door pulled Brienne from her thoughts. She moved from her seat and pulled open the door, steeling herself at the sight of her father.

Selwyn Tarth was only marginally taller than his daughter, the shortest of siblings lost to him before she had been born. His face was lined, having become a father later in life than most. But his sapphire blue eyes still danced in the candlelight. On his face he held a soft smile for Brienne and in one hand, a carefully folded brocade cloak in snowy white and, she knew without needing to look, the quartered sigil of azure and rose.

“You look so like your mother,” he said, a little more faintly than usual, but the hug he pulled her into was as strong as ever. “I’m so very glad to have lived to see this day.”

Brienne gripped the fabric covering her father’s shoulder into her fist as though she might never feel his arms around her again.

“Brienne.” He pulled away from her, hands on her shoulders and giving her a serious look. His voice dropped so that only she could hear. “You know this is important, marriage. But this man… I met him, during the rebellion, and his temper troubled me even then. I know that he was quite young, and you say that he’s much changed, so I believe you. But are you _sure_?”

She nodded, jaw set and eyes hardening somewhat. She could not and would not stand anyone else questioning Jaime to her, not even her father.

“And this is a love match? I am not _opposed_ to a man from House Lannister. I just want to be certain.”

“Yes, Father. I love him very much.” She did avert her eyes then, hoping he would not notice that she did not confirm any feelings on Jaime’s behalf, and hoping he would not ask.

To her relief, Selwyn Tarth smiled, though she saw questions unasked in his eyes. “Then, please, allow me.”

He unfurled the cloak and fastened it around Brienne’s shoulders. She found herself wishing for a moment that it at least could have been any other color.

“For too many years there was just the pair of us. It will be a blessing from the gods to have a whole family in these halls once again. Would that your mother was here.” His smile softened. “I don’t suppose a warrior maid such as yourself quite needs her father’s permission to wed, but it is a kind favor for you to grant me the opportunity to play the role. Now come, daughter, let us go steal away the Lion of Lannister.”

Brienne was not sure what she expected when she entered the sept. Weddings on Tarth were traditionally held at twilight, and the customary candles filled the high-ceilinged room, casting happy shadows across the crowd in attendance. No true Lannisters sat in the audience; in truth, there were none with the name left but Jaime and Tyrion. But most of their friends, some familiar faces from battles in the north, what was left of their families, Stormlanders of importance, and several curious-eyed lords and ladies from across Westeros filled the pews of the sept. And all their eyes were on Brienne.

On her father’s arm, she kept her eyes trained on Jaime. He wore a pale blue doublet the color of stormy seas, an unfamiliar but pleasant color on him, and Widow’s Wail hung at his hip. His smile was blinding, a light she had sought time and again in the darkness of the north. It struck her then, how odd it was to think that even if Jaime could never be in love with her, she would from this day forward have his smiles and his kisses and every other sinful thing he had shown her he could do with his brilliant, mischievous mouth.

That would be if he still wanted her, now that they were back in the south and on Tarth and the threat of death did not hang over their heads quite so low. He had stolen kisses from her in the spare few moments they had had alone on the island, but he did not visit her chambers. Some small part of her had been crushed, even when she knew she should not want such things in the first place. And here she was, wanting them—wanting _him_—even on her father’s arm, in her white gown, wearing her mother’s maiden cloak.

Jaime was still grinning from ear to ear when she met him on the steps before the septon—a very gray man who had been very old even in her youth.

“_Lady Brienne_,” he drawled, leaning toward her just slightly enough so that only she could hear him speak. “You look as pure as driven snow. It is rather inspiring.”

Her face hung somewhere between a scowl and a smile, an awkward expression reserved especially for her betrothed.

Jaime just chuckled, his green eyes glinting. He reached out and curled his hand around one of her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I am happy to attend to our present business. But there’s something I must do first. This is for saving my life over and over, for finding Sansa Stark, for protecting the realm from the dead, and for every little stupid, stubborn, brave decision you have made since the day I met you.”

She did not have the faintest idea what he was talking about or why he was talking at all just then, with everyone they knew and so many politically important people staring up at them. But he lifted the hand he held to his lips and brushed a kiss to her fingers. He let go ruefully and drew his sword.

“Kneel, Lady Brienne.” He had adopted his commander’s voice now, and a noticeable hush seemed to fall over the sept. Even the candles seemed to dim under the authority of his tone.

Brienne stood rooted to the spot. “What?” she said thickly, a buzzing in her head blocking out all thought.

He continued to point his sword to the ground just beside her, his face a serious composition of angles. She only continued to stare.

It was her father’s voice that moved her, a hand lightly placed on her shoulder. “I believe the lad asked you to kneel, love.”

She glanced at her father, who smiled softly down at her.

So Brienne knelt shakily down to one knee, gathering her delicate white dress in her fist. She could not think, could not move, could only stare straight ahead toward Jaime’s navel.

“Lady Brienne Tarth, of House Tarth,” Jaime intoned clearly. The skin under her dress tingled pleasantly at the touch of his could blade upon her right shoulder.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.”

She felt her breath catch, overcome with the strange sensation of floating outside her own body, as though she were watching the scene take place from somewhere else. She was only grounded by the feel of his eyes burning into her without the need to look up. The chill of his sword lifted and moved to her left shoulder.

“In the name of the Father I charge you to be just.”

It did not seem real, _could not be real_. Women could not be knights in Westeros. And yet—no one was protesting, not even the old septon. Jaime wanted her to be a knight even when he had never knighted anyone before. _Ser Jaime Lannister _thought she should be a knight. She watched with wide eyes as the rippling red of his Valyrian steel moved back to her right shoulder.

“In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and the innocent.”

Had Brienne been able to unfreeze herself from her position, she would have seen Podrick watching. Would have seen how his arms were over his head, barely containing his excitement for her. Might have noticed Sansa Stark sitting next to him, tears filling her eyes and beaming.

“In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women.”

Jaime’s voice cracked ever so slightly, but Brienne did not think anyone else would have noticed but her. She could not lift her eyes above his chest, which was rising and falling heavily.

“In the name of the Crone, I charge you to act with wisdom.”

Again, his sword, the twin of her own, lifted and came down again.

“In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be resilient.”

Brienne inhaled deeply, as steadily as she could manage, as Widow’s Wail touched her shoulder for a final time.

“In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to always remember the value of life.”

She gulped.

“Arise, Ser Brienne of Tarth, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She did as he bid her and found that they were indeed of a height. She could look directly into his eyes, a little misty and wide, staring at her as though the sight of her surprised him. His body language was entirely open, arms hanging at his sides and head cocked just slightly to one side.

He sheathed his sword again. The audience behind them was clapping, some people were cheering, her father was saying something, but she heard none of it.

“I should have done that a long time ago,” Jaime said quietly, paying no one else any attention either.

“You love me,” she said. It was not a question, just an observation as though his feelings were an object she had been searching for her entire life, but had somehow walked directly past every day without noticing.

“Of course I love you.” He smiled, and a single tear leaked from his eye. He cupped her face, running his thumb along her cheek. “Let’s get married.” His voice dropped to a salacious whisper. “_Then perhaps later I can charge you with a few other requests I’ve had in mind._”

She would have liked to have glared at him, but found that all she could do was laugh, her earlier troubles suddenly all forgotten. She was a knight, and Jaime Lannister, late of the Kingsguard and shortly of House Tarth, _loved her_. And together, if they were very lucky, they would create a life of honor.

**Author's Note:**

> Brienne’s vows are a blend of the show + _The Hedge Knight_ \+ vows I made up. I rewrote that part so many times because I wanted her to be anointed, but it felt clunky and overly long. So I hope that this works! 
> 
> As always, I would deeply appreciate knowing anything that came to mind while reading this. Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
